


Price of Love

by ivegotthekittens



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Schalke 04, Gen, German National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegotthekittens/pseuds/ivegotthekittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 times Manuel had to settle for second best for the sake of his career (Manuel Neuer centric, with Neuer/Kramer and hinted Neuer/Gotze)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price of Love

 

 

> **Before I begin I would like to give thanks to the wonderful mods of the[futbal-minibang fic exchange](http://futbal-minibang.livejournal.com/). This is my second time participating and I am very proud of both of the stories I wrote for this community. You guys are doing a wonderful job! **
> 
> **Also thanks to: Isana, for wonderful beta work and general awesomeness, and my Neumer anon(s) for helping develop my head!canon for this pairing. (hopefully the coming international break would give us more to work with).**
> 
> **No thanks to: Anne, for being such a life ruiner she might as well be a professional footballer.**
> 
> **As part of the exchange I was gifted a mix-tape by[rubiconjane](http://rubiconjane.tumblr.com/). The cover photo and a link to the song-list can be found at the end of the fic. **
> 
> **I hope you enjoy, and I will be very happy to hear your feedbacks.**
> 
> * * *

1.

"It's not fair!" Manuel could feel the tears start to form in his eyes, "It's not fair!"

Mistakes that weren't even yours shouldn't have such a huge effect on your life. He asked his dad to leave the house earlier. Fischer wasn't late for his first practice! He whined even though he had no way to know if it was true or not, but his dad just laughed affectionately and patted his head. And so, they were late; and Manuel was placed in the only position left, the only position no one wanted. It didn't take him long to realize, it wasn’t the one he wanted either. He stayed though; he stayed because it had only been a few months and these things change all the time. At practice you get many chances to impress in other areas and he was already training at Schalke, so he didn't mind being stuck in goal for a couple of seasons, watching all his teammates have fun at the other end of the pitch. He knew it would change eventually..

But life didn’t work like that, life wasn’t fair, and Manuel realized that four years later, sitting on the bench after all his teammates and coaches and staff were gone, crying into his goalkeeper's gloves.

"It's not fair!" He was so sure he was alone, and so he didn’t mind screaming it, hoping that something might be up there and that someone  he was supposed to believe in would be driven into action by his pain.

It was stupid, he knew. He had no reason not to be happy. They had just won--he had won-- their first U7 tournament. They won it for Schalke. He had a picture of himself wearing that  shirt with that crest and a medal around his neck. His coach even told him, after Manuel's small smile gave away that he wasn't as ecstatic as his teammates, that the win was just as much thanks his amazing saves as  the two goals scored by Jan and Sayed.

But that was the point, wasn't it? He didn't wanna help by saving, he wanted to help by… helping! By being up there kicking the ball around, passing and getting it again and passing to someone else. Creating movement, his coach would say, and to Manuel it sounded like the title of a fairytale, like magic. Instead he was so far back, it was sometimes impossible to even see what was happening at the other end. Sometimes he was alone for very long minutes when the coach asked all defenders to try going farther up, help with the attack, and they all did – they all wanted goals! So did he, but with every new great performance, every new word of praise, he knew he was becoming too good to be put anywhere else on the field.

And it wasn't fair!!! There was nothing he could do about it but scream, and that wasn't fair either. And holding back tears eventually became impossible.

"Hi." Manuel didn't even realize the coach had found him and had sat down until he heard a soft voice and a gentle hand came to bring him closer. "I know you don't like being in goal, but you do wanna be a profi, right?"

Manuel knew nodding right then would mean defeat, it would mean he'd have to stop crying and admit it was immature and stupid and he should suck it up and be thankful for what he had. So he didn't, he didn't move at all but his sobbing had quieted down.

"You know," the coach gave his tiny form a squeeze, "as a field player, you'd have many more players to compete against for a spot, even at youth levels. There are not as many goalies, especially not many as good at you."

Manuel rolled his eyes, and even though he was staring straight at the ground under him, the coach must have felt it. "And you are good, you know that right? You are better in goal than any other position, that's why I keep putting you there. You're even better than some of my U10 keepers".

That last sentence shot Manuel's face right up, looking straight into his coach's eyes. It was a compliment he had never heard before, and the warm smile he was met with made him think his coach had been saving these words for the right occasion.

"You trust me right?"

Manuel nodded, as much communication as he could afford to give right then.

"So listen here – keep at it, and one day you'll not only play for Schalke, you'll be their hero! Maybe even their captain. We will sing your name even though you never score."

Manuel's lips started to curve, and he didn’t even want to resist it. "Manu, you're so good you can be the best goalkeeper in the entire world one day. And you want that, right?"

If he was honest, being best goalkeeper in the world had never been part of his dream, but from that moment on, it might as well have been. As his mind was suddenly full of images of him holding not a cheap gold-paint-covered-plastic medal but a huge silver bowl, hugged by teammates, cheered by a mixture of friends and fans and he  couldn’t tell which was which among them.

Manuel nodded, yes, this was what he wanted. And if it meant only scoring goals while playing at the school-yard with his friends on free afternoons, he could learn to live with that.

 

2.

"Bayern isn't bad, you know?"

If Manuel had any power left in him, he would have sarcastically laughed. But he was exhausted, and it wasn’t just the running. The running was slow and easy. But just 3 days into this week-long international break and he already couldn’t hold out against the aggressive lobbying of Bastian and his friends, his accomplices.

It had been easy at the World Cup; Schalke had been second to Bayern and he had been full of optimism. Magath was rough, but he knew he could bring over the right names, put them in the right shape. With just a bit more good luck for them and bad luck for others, they could maybe, finally, bring back home the title.  So, yes, back then it was easy, very easy – it was a joke that made them laugh and banter and in fact, Manuel can see now, had brought them closer. In fact, it had brought them to a point where all the Bavarians felt completely at ease while breaking him down to pieces.

Bastian especially, Manuel found it harder and harder to stand that ridiculous cocky smirk of his, the "you know I'm right" kind of smile. And yes, Bastian knew he was right. He knew how everything he said made perfect sense.  

And so Manuel stopped resisting with reason, because he had none.  In whatever way he looked at it, whichever way they forced him to, moving to Bayern was the right thing, the  only thing, for him to do.

Schalke weren't what they were supposed to be, even with the big names and the big wins in the Champions League. Everyone knew the team with the best goalkeeper in the Bundesliga would be lucky to even finish in the first half of the table.

So yes, whatever they said, whatever they threw at him, he had to agree. Yes, a keeper at his level shouldn't be taking so many balls out of his net every game. Yes, he still wanted to get better and that wouldn’t happen without facing the best European teams year after year. Yes, he didn’t wanna finish his career without any titles, championships, to his name. Yes, Jogi wouldn't call a keeper from a 2.BuLi team (not that we think you'll end up relegated, of course. And there was that awful smirk again).

He had nothing to say that could counter that. Yes, moving to Bayern made sense. He didn't even need all their one-on-one casual talks at the hotel lounge or while taking a walk or during training or now. Yes, they never stopped, but Manuel allowed them to go on beyond what was necessary as it meant he could fight his battle against them instead of against himself.

It wasn't all about reason though, nothing in football ever is . And Manuel never realized they might have answers to that as well.

Cause again, Bastian was right, logically. Yes, Bayern wasn’t bad. Katherine was there as well and it would make many things easier, would allow him to hide himself better, which was in itself another reason. He had nowhere to hide back home anymore. He thought he'd never have to. But lately, he had been hoping to find a few places where he could be left alone and going all the way to the other side of the country would not only make it easier, and it would make those hopes not feel so strange.

Yes, Bayern isn't bad. Bastian was there, and Phillip and Thomas, he wouldn’t be alone (not that he was alone at Schalke; it was simply never a factor before, never something he needed to consider). Bayern fans were also not bad, not that bad. He knew they were passionate "… and they will accept you eventually, love you even. Just give them a bit of time to forget."

"They won't, they won't ever." Manuel stopped running. It was supposed to be just a nice and easy afternoon jog. And it was, until something made him quicken his steps, made him stamp the ground harder and harder till he had no choice but to stop, despite wanting to continue running, to run away and leave Bastian and his words behind. Bastian kept his pace though, even as Manuel was panting, struggling to breath, excusing his lack of words with each heavy breath, and seemed in fact unaffected by anything that was bringing Manuel to near breaking point. "They'd hate me, they'd never forget or..."

"Come on, of course they will. I know them!" Manuel eyes were still buried in the damp ground. He wanted to look up, see the look on Bastian's face as he claimed to know Manuel's flesh and blood better than him. But his friend didn’t even give him a second to protest, "you play for a club for 15 years, you get to know the Ultras."

Yes, Manuel wanted to answer, you do. He got now that Bastian was actually referring to Bayern's fans, but it did nothing to stop him from taking offence with his arrogant way of speaking. Same arrogance he cursed against so many times, the one he had learnt specifically to hate - Bavarian arrogance. How he loved to swipe that smirk off their faces, first from the Nordkurve, then from the goal and now… now such a tone of voice should have burned his blood, turned it into white heat that would cut through him, burn out his heart. And maybe it did, because Manuel's legs couldn’t hold him anymore, and he slammed himself down to sit on the leaves just beside the forest road.

"I'm not talking about…" he didn’t say you, "about the Bayern fans."

"Who then?"

Manuel wasn’t sure if he was playing dumb, didn’t know if he cared at this point in the conversation.

"I'm talking about…" he didn’t say us "about… Schalke’s," he didn’t say mine. He was still panting, but his gaze came up to meet Bastian, who was towering over him, and he was sure that at that moment the expression on his own face held some arrogance as well.

It took a few moments for Bastian to come sit by his side, and Manuel managed to get his breath to a steady pace.

"They won't ever forgive me; they won't forget what I did, they won't get over this. They'd hate me. I stood next to them, among them, and now I probably won't ever get to come back."

He could feel tears starting to form in his eyes, and he didn’t care about letting them go. He wanted to let go, stop holding himself so tight, trying to hide from everyone that he had actually made up his mind. He had for a while now, yet he kept silence in hopes there would be something to make him turn back, to make him change – make something change - so he wouldn’t have to act on it.

"I know this is probably the toughest decision you ever made." Bastian put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Manuel's eyes were once again glued to whatever he could imagine to be safely still, like the ground and the tree roots running into it. "But, this is what you always wanted right? Being a professional, being the world's best goalkeeper?"

No; he had to admit, no Bayern isn't bad, not at all. He'd win titles and get world recognition and get to walk the street every now and then without being interrupted and asked for signatures and being told what a hero he was, what a symbol. No, Bayern wasn’t perfect, but it was good, good enough. It had to be.

 

3.

Manuel wanted to stop for a moment to ask himself, or even wonder out loud, “how did I get here, and what am I doing? Why am I doing this?” But he knew not being able to articulate something wasn’t the same as not knowing.

The silence that fell between Christoph and him broke his heart for the 4th time that day. The first time had been on the bus to Borussia Park, when he sat next to Mario who refused to hold his gaze since that morning. He was sending out a clear message, he didn’t have to be Manuel's first choice but Manuel did have to choose.

The second time was in the tunnel, when he tried so hard to avoid Christoph's eyes out of fear he could tell just from the look on Manuel's face what he is about to do right after they stopped being rivals. The third time was when he couldn't avoid his lover's eyes anymore; he had to look at them; he had to smile. He had to hate himself even more.

And now it's the fourth time, or maybe not. Maybe the fourth time was when he arrived at Christoph's driveway like he promised 3 months ago. So it was the fifth, or maybe the fifth was the easy smile he was greeted with and the gentle hands which guided his mouth onto Christoph's and the sixth time must have been tasting him again. Him, Christoph.

Manuel was so obsessed with his own pain, he almost forgot the other man was there.  

"I can offer an explanation, if you want. Or, if you need it." What a stupid thing to say, but he didn’t know what would be the right thing. How do you gently break someone else's heart when you have no clue how come your own is still beating?

"It's Mario isn't it? He asked you to…?"

Yes. No. It was more than that, much more complicated. But nodding was easier than trying to make sense out of this mess. It hardly came out as a nod though; his intentions weren’t worth shit right now, probably. He was as far gone now as he was back then, back in Brazil, when he fell in love even though he told himself he had it as good as it could get, would get.

"Well, go on, explain it then."

And Manuel did, he tried to. And his words about secrets and worries and Bastian ended with a simple conclusion "it's what I wanted, for as long as I can remember. Being a football profi, being the best keeper in the world. I have it now, and this…" he didn’t have to finish the sentences. Christoph was a profi too; Christoph got what could be the consequences of their affair, even if he didn’t mind them as much (at all?)

"Isn't it risky with him as well?"

"It is, but… not the same."

And he wanted to tell Christoph why, wanted to tell him he didn’t love Mario as much, and that was why it was safer – they had set up boundaries he had no doubt he could keep. It was slower, it was steady, because Mario never hid the fact Manuel's second best for him as well.  They were with each other simply because the other is there, and there was just enough affection and there was enough chemistry and there were enough giggles and passion to make it work, and it did work, effortlessly.

"What if I moved to Bayern?"

Manuel wasn’t sure if Christoph was able to read his mind, or if he was being difficult, or if he was being hopeful.

"Don't!" it came out too fast, but Christoph's sad smile let Manuel know he got the reason, got what Manuel was warning him from, and he almost winked at Manuel, though he didn't need to in order to show he never actually meant it.

Manuel opened his mouth, wanting to say something else, wanted to let Christoph know not being able to voice something isn't the same as not feeling it. He wished for the silence again, wished for time to maybe find his words somehow.

"I'll see you out." Christoph leaned forward and pat Manuel's knee as if they had just finished a long tournament on FIFA in which Manuel lost. And Manuel knew better than to argue, so he got up. But his hands and lips and heart didn’t know how to leave without a protest.

The door was open and he turned just to say goodbye and ended up with Christoph pressed on to him, pressed close by Manuel’s hands and Manuel wished he could never let go. He even dared to imagine he wouldn’t have to when Christoph responded to him. His hearts shattered for the seventh (Eighth? Ninth? Thirteenth? ) time when he realized this was what Chrisoph expected to happen this evening, what he had probably been waiting for to happen since the summer heat ended.

"Please," Manuel broke the kiss only so he could beg him, "I can take a flight, I can get myself off training tomorrow, I can…. We can talk more. Or not talk just, just let me stay here for a while, let me stay with you."

Chrsioph's eyes were still closed, he was silent, regaining control over his breath and Manuel couldn’t tell if it meant he was winning or losing.

"Christoph," he tried again, "just… please…"

"You chose him."

Christoph's voice was so soft, it made Manuel feel like he was floating in space. Unable to touch anything, feel anything, as if it was all being pulled away from him by the vast nothingness.

No, he wanted to scream. No, he didn't. It was reality and circumstances that did. It was not me, it was…

It was the habit. He had learnt too well how to settle for second best for the sake of his career; he was too far in to stop now. He loved his current position, current place,  as much as possible; he loved it out of realism and circumstances, and he couldn’t seem to stop.

He couldn’t say it though, any of it. All he managed was to shake his head, hands still holding Christoph close to him, their foreheads pressed together. He shook his head again until the words he couldn’t find before fell out of him.

"I love you" he whispered, knowing full well how wrong it was, wrong of him, to say it like that - so simple and easy – just then.

"You should…" Christoph's voice broke, "go. You should go now."

And the pain in his heart made Manuel think it was never truly broken before

Manuel nodded, and he felt the full heavy weight of Christoph's gaze still on him as he turned around and stepped out of the door.

He left, and he didn’t look back, not until he heard the door close, not slammed shut, behind him.

'That's what you choose.' Christoph's voice was blocking his ears, accusing and full of venom like it never actually was.

'That's what you wanted.' It was still there as he unlocked the car.

'That's what you did, that's who you are.'

Manuel pressed the gas panel too hard, made the tail light blink once, twice, three times. But no one was in the window to see it.

He drove away, drove to the other side of the country, so far away from his home. He left behind him his childhood club and his childhood dreams and his childish hopes of love, and went away to become the best goalkeeper in the world, just as he had always wanted to be, almost.  

_fin_

* * *

 

[ _& High Raised Arm- a Manuel Neuer fanmix_ ](http://rubiconjane.tumblr.com/post/113609202197/neuerfanmix)

 

[ ](http://imgur.com/Z7N449U)


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